


Rubies, Diamonds, Fire, and Blades

by VixenRose1996



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Infidelity, Mental Instability, Multi, Scott is the Cuckoos surrogate dad, everyone is sad, movieverse but only kinda, of legal age but not eighteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VixenRose1996/pseuds/VixenRose1996
Summary: After witnessing an indiscretion on Jean's part, Scott is so hurt that he runs off and seeks comfort in the company of an old lover. This leaves Jean, who has been feeling unstable since the events on Liberty Island, to deal with her own guilt, anger, and jealousy. Loyalties are torn, children must be allowed to grow up. No one is happy and all must confront what they want.
Relationships: Emma Frost/Scott Summers, Emma Frost/Scott Summers (Past), Jean Grey/Logan (X-Men), Jean Grey/Scott Summers, John Proudstar/Sonya Simonson, Scott Summers & Charles Xavier
Comments: 21
Kudos: 44





	Rubies, Diamonds, Fire, and Blades

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, I'm a huge Scemma shipper and think Emma is better for Scott but this fic is written where no one is 100% the bad guy.

It was almost funny how something as simple as a kiss could feel like the world crashing around Scott. 

There was absolutely nothing special about that day; classes had been business as usual, the weather had been nice, the scheduled Danger Room sessions went well, and the government hadn’t sent a death squad or tried to bomb the campus. It had been completely normal.

Which was part of the reason why rounding the corner to see Jean pressing Logan against a wall and sticking her tongue down his throat dropped the world out from under so thoroughly. 

Scott watched as the red-tinted scene played out in front of him and it was like he was watching a horror movie; his heart was pounding in his ears and he broke out in a cold sweat. Scott wanted to yell. He wanted to cry. He wanted to put his fist through the wall. He wanted to blast Wolverine into the atmosphere. 

But instead, he just walked away.

One of the few nice things about having to permanently live behind literal rose-tinted glasses is that it was easier to hide the dazed, empty look in his eyes as he dodged the herds of students on his way back to his bedroom.

The same room he’d been sharing with Jean for over a year. 

Locking the door behind him, Scott found he couldn’t even bring himself to sit on the bed they shared. The entire room felt contaminated; the smell of Jean’s favorite apple blossom lotion hung in the air, a pair of earrings he’d given her three Christmases ago sat on the dresser, the silk blouse she’d worn yesterday was draped over the hamper, and her hairbrush was on the vanity. 

He’d known Jean since he’d arrived at the mansion, a vision of beauty even to his shy, fifteen-year-old eyes, and she’d since seeped into every cell of Scott’s body. Usually, he liked it, liked the constant reminder that he was loved, but now it felt as if there was nowhere that was truly his own… not even his own mind. 

The leader of the X-Men may be constantly needed but Scott Summers needed a break.

Throwing things into his duffle bag without any of his usual care for neatness or organization, Scott went to grab his cell phone when the glint of the sunlight on his engagement ring caught his attention. He stared down at it for a long moment before, with all the pain of a man sawing off his own limb, pulling it free from his hand and leaving it on the dresser.

The skin under the ring felt thin and vulnerable, sensitive to the fabric of his trousers as Scott pulled out his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart even after so many years. 

“Hey,” Scott said, voice calmer than he felt, “could you do me a favor?”

* * *

Jean Grey was burning.

Every cell of her body was alight with delicious fire; she was alive, aware of everything and everyone around her. A whole new world of sensations was open to her, one of unfamiliar tastes and touches and experiences. Jean was elated, she was  _ excited _ , she was  **_ hungry _ ** . 

Then Logan slid a callous hand under the back of her shirt and she came crashing back to Earth. 

“No,” she said, throwing herself back from the feral mutant. “Nonono, what was that? What did I just do?”

“Well,” Logan said, voice husky, “I’d say-”

“Shut up!” Jean snapped, grabbing at her own hair. “No one asked you!”

She wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand, trying to get the taste of Logan -whiskey and cigars and fury and  _ heat- _ off of her lips and out of her mind. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just did that! What the hell was I thinking?!”

Logan took her by the arms, halting Jean’s frantic pacing. “Calm down, it wasn’t that-”

“Get off of me!” She shoved him, Logan flying back into the wall, drywall cracking under the force. Jean’s brain tingled the way it always did when she used her telekinesis. “Don’t touch me, you-”

“Hey!” Logan snapped, brushing the plaster from his clothes and hair. “You came onto me, Jeannie; you don’t get the high ground here!”

“Why you-” the telepath snarled, gearing up to mentally slap him through the roof. “I… I…”

The words caught in Jean’s throat and turned into a choked sob. “Oh god, you’re right! This is all my fault!”

Hot tears pricked at the corners of Jean’s eyes as she held herself, nails digging into the soft pink flesh of her upper arms. “I have to tell Scott… I have to let him know that I’m sorry.”

Logan shook his head, “Don’t do that.”

Her green eyes snapped back to the feral mutant, “Just because you don’t want to deal with the fallout doesn’t mean I’m going to lie to my fiance!”

“It’s not that, it is just…” Logan’s face softened and he sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Look, if you tell Slim then he’ll be crushed and he’ll find some way to blame himself; you’d only be making yourself feel better by telling. I’m not saying you should lie, just… there are things Scott might be better off not knowing.”

‘Better off not knowing.’

How many times had different individuals thought that about Scott? There were gaps in his memories, Jean knew, scars he didn’t recall getting, periods of time that were missing from his mind, stories of his past that changed during every telling to Scott’s own confusion, and missions he remembered differently from her or Warren or Hank or Ororo. 

Jean wondered how many of these gaps were due to the brain damage caused by the plane crash, how many of them were part of Mister Sinister’s plan to keep his perfect genetic pet project calm and compliant, how much of it Scott’s own poor mind trying to protect itself, and how often the Professor had ‘smoothed over’ the rawer, more bloody parts of his adoptive son’s psyche. 

She refused to be part of it. 

She’d sworn to that long ago and had stuck to that vow even as she held him through nightmares of plane crashes and mad scientists and abusive foster fathers and missions gone wrong. Jean had stuck to it even as she fought the urge to soothe the bouts of anxiety caused by the unfamiliar social terror of teenage parties, air turbulence, the weight of believing that the fate of all mutantdom rested on his shoulders, and the fear of the power that lurked behind his own eyes.

But Jean never gave in for Scott’s own sake and she refused to do it for her own. She’d be honest, no matter the consequences and how much it hurt. 

“Scott,” she called out, slowly pushing open their bedroom door. “I need to tell you something. Honey? Are you here?”

The room was empty, the only thing out of place being Scott’s duffle bag that was on their perfectly made bed instead of its usual place on the left-hand corner of his closet’s top shelf, right next to the shoebox where he kept the few treasured items he'd managed to track down from his brutally short childhood in Alaska. She approached it cautiously, heart-thumping erratically as she peeked inside. Jeans, shirts, underwear, socks… everything he’d need for a retrieval mission; she’d seen him pack this same bag countless times before.

But it was all wrong. 

Scott was meticulous in nearly all things and that included packing his clothes for a trip -she’d teased him about it so many times. But this time he’d just messily thrown a seemingly random collection of clothes into the bad without much care or order; there were four shirts, one pair of jeans, seven pairs of socks, three pairs of underwear, and no pajamas… just chaos. 

“Oh Scott…” she breathed, looking around the room in a desperate attempt to find  _ something  _ to help her understand what was going on in the mind of the man she loved. The glint of something metallic on the top of his dresser caught her eye; a few steps closer and her heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. 

Scott’s engagement ring. 

Male engagement rings weren’t all that common but Scott had insisted on it; he was proud of their commitment to one another, wanted the entire world to know he was getting married, and Jean had liked that it helped to ward off the flirtations he usually received from single mothers and annoyingly bold older students. It was a simple titanium band (“for practicalities sake, it is very durable”) with a thin inner-ring of gold so that it matched her own ring; two gold bands that overlapped to form an X (“or an infinity symbol, depending on how you look at it”) with a single ruby inlay where the two bands met (“the diamond industry is a complete scam… plus, I thought the ruby would be more symbolic”). 

Jean held the ring in her hand like it was a baby bird, frail and fallen. Pressing the cool metal against her lips, the tears began to flow as she reached out with her telepathy. Scott’s mind had always been an eye in the storm that was the crushing hurricane of thoughts and desires of all those around them, calm and steady and organized. She found it -she always found it, even miles apart they were always connected- on the road leading out of the School but when Jean gave a telepathic ‘knock,’ asking to be let in, Scott’s mental defenses slammed shut and she was pushed away, locked out of his mind for the first time ever.

The tears came hard now, falling from her cheeks and dotting the hardwood floor below. 

_ ‘He saw.’ _

* * *

Jean threw the door to Xavier’s office open, not bothering to knock.

“Where is he going?” She demanded over the solid oak of the door slamming into the wall.

“Good afternoon, Jean,” the telepath said in that infuriatingly calm way of his, never once looking up from the essay he was grading. “I am doing well, as were my door and wall before you took such offense to them.”

_ ‘Step back. Calm down. Regain control. Use your words.’ _

Jean took a deep breath, quietly closed the door, and asked one more. “Charles, where is Scott going?”

The professor took a moment, shuffling the piles of papers on his desk, before answering in a tight voice that older Jean that the telepath wasn’t happy about what he was about to say. “Scott has been asked to temporarily fill-in for a trigonometry course at the Massachusetts Academy. I informed him of the invitation and he decided to accept it.”

*

*

*

“WHAT?” she shrieked. “YOU LET HIM GO TO THAT… THAT WOMAN?  _ WHY? _ ”

Charles sighed but kept his eyes fixed on the essays. “I’ll admit that I am…  _ uneasy  _ about the arrangement and, though I cautioned him against going, Scott is an adult. I must respect his decisions even if-”

“ ** BULL! ** ” Jean slammed her hands down on her mentor’s desk, everything in the room rattling at her fury. 

The Professor’s finally looked up at her, shocked by her outburst. “Jean, calm down.”

“You wouldn’t even let out from under your thumb to attend MIT-” the older man flinched at her words; it was a barely detectable thing and yet it felt like a victory just the same “-but you’ll let him go running off into the clutches of the woman who-”

“Jean!” Charles snapped, voice stern and absolute; she went silent, lips tightened into a snarl. 

The older man took a breath, composing himself. “My decision to…  _ discourage  _ Scott from pursuing higher education out of state was a difficult one. He’d only been under my care and in a stable environment for three short years; while Scott had made great progress in that time, I feared that entering foreign surroundings would be detrimental to his mental health. You agreed with me back then, if I recall.”

Jean’s jaw clenched; it was true.

Scott had been so excited to show them the acceptance letter; they hadn’t even known he applied to any colleges at all, let alone one as well-regarded as MIT. She could so clearly picture the look on his face when he showed her and the Professor the letter, when Ororo pressed a sweet, sisterly kiss on his forehead in congratulations, and when he called up Warren and Hank to tell them. Scott so rarely smiled and when he did they tended to be small, tight things but his smile that day was so bright and open it was like he’d never experienced that lifetime of pain and hurt. Like he’d only ever known happiness.

But all that joy was knocked right away when Professor Xavier solemnly told Scott that he didn’t think it was a good idea for him to go. He was proud, Charles had insisted, so immensely proud that Scott was able to get in despite having spent most of his life receiving a formal education that most generously be described as ‘spotty’ but he just didn’t think Scott was ready to be on his own. 

And she had backed the Professor up.

Scott had only been eighteen; he’d finally started to overcome years of malnutrition and grow into his height and features but still flinched if you touched him unexpectedly, went stiff in crowded places, and found the social situations petrifying. Jean couldn’t imagine him being comfortable whilst surrounded by other college kids whose biggest concern was getting drunk and laid or passing the next bio test. 

So, when questioned, Jean gently advised Scott to listen to Charles. 

Hank, ever the stable, level-headed force in their lives, understood her and the Professor’s concerns...but still stated his belief that Scott should have the opportunity to try college even if he did end up finding it too overwhelming. Ororo maintained a stern yet quiet disapproval of their actions and strongly encouraged Scott to what he felt was best, assuring him that she would be there for aid no matter what he chose. 

Warren, however, was furious with both of them when he found out.

***

_“This is a chance for Scott to live for himself,” he argued. “It may be his only chance, and he deserves to experience it!”_

***

Warren didn’t speak to either her or the Professor for nearly three years after that; he did keep in contact with Scott though, constantly encouraging him to go off to school and even offering to pay for it himself when Scott admitted that he couldn’t get financial aid due to his adopted father being a literal billionaire. 

The once and future leader of the X-Men had declined though; Professor Xavier had asked him to stay and he’d obeyed, carrying his disappointment and devastation with a quiet dignity befitting of his position. 

It had broken Jean’s heart, the way Scott had seemed to shrink back in on himself after sending in his official rejection and then filling out the paperwork to do remote classes from the local private college, only needing to turn up on campus every Friday to take tests, turn in work, and meet with his advisor to make sure everything was in order. It was an excellent school, with a small student body and quiet campus, but, even if it was probably better suited for him, it hadn’t been what Scott wanted.

His mute pain, the way Scott almost completely shut down for two weeks, must have worn on Charles too because the day of Scott’s ‘high school graduation,’ he led the teen out to the front drive of the mansion where a beautiful, cherry red Ford Mustang GT Convertible with all the little extra gadgets and gizmos money could buy sat gleaming in the sunlight. Then, five months later, this was followed by a mint-condition Cessna 152 for an eighteenth birthday gift. 

Jean often wondered if the Professor picked up that lesson -that the giving/receiving of expensive gifts were an excellent way to assuage guilt and soothe pain- from his own upbringing at the hands of emotionally distant parents and kind but always professional nannies. 

Still, Scott had been absolutely thrilled both; he treated that car like most would their firstborn child. Even though other vehicles -cars, motorcycles, and his beloved Blackbird- would follow in the coming years, that mustang was still Scott’s favorite. He rarely let anyone touch it, even Jean was scarcely permitted to lay hands on the precious vehicle.

_ ‘He took her for rides though, maybe not in that car but they’d be gone for hours on end and neither would ever say where they went,’ _ Jean recalled bitterly. 

“Call him back! Call him back right now!” she demanded. “Call Scott and say that we need him back here immediately, make up a reason if you have!”

“I will do no such thing,” the Professor refused firmly. “Now, I know that it is not my place to interfere with your private lives but perhaps a bit of distance will do you both well, give you a chance to think over things? Marriage is such a big step and you need to be sure it is what you want.”

_ ‘Does he know?’  _ Jean wondered, a chill creeping up her spine as her former mentor stared her down with an unreadable expression. The Professor had always seemed to know so much, even if he didn’t understand nearly as much as he thought he did.

“You’re wrong,” she proclaimed desperately as Charles stared at her like she was hurting his heart. “I love him, I love him, I love him!”

“Jean, are you well?” her mentor asked quietly, gentle eyes wide and sad as he reached out to take his hand.

She backed away until her back hit the door, “I… I don’t know.”

* * *

It was nearly 1:30 in the morning when Scott passed the sign for the Massachusetts Academy for the Future, the roar of his motorcycle -the sleek, silver Honda CBR1100XX Super Blackbird that the Professor had given him as a 21st birthday present; partly, he suspects, because the telepath knew Scott would find the irony of the name amusing- cutting through the stillness of the mid-spring night. The full moon glowed above him, illuminating the carefully manicured roads lined with budding red maple trees as he drove into campus.

**_ ‘Drive to the back parking lot, if you please, so that horrid machine you’re riding doesn’t wake up any of the children.’ _ **

Scott felt himself smile as Emma’s crisp, perfectly articulated voice floated through his mind. Call him crazy, but, in his experience, every telepath’s ‘voice’ had its own particular feel. The Professor’s was a firm yet gentle pressure that was always reassuring in its sturdiness. Jean’s was always warm, like sinking into a hot bubble bath after a long day. Betsy’s usually felt as light and playful as her flirtation, like a feather tickling his ribs. Xi’an’s was sharp, but, seeing as her telepathic skills were relatively minor, never painfully so. 

Jack’s had been as hard and rough as his fists and voice; there had never been any hiding from the man’s rage, even in the recesses of Scott’s own mind. 

He didn’t remember what Mister Sinister’s telepathy had felt like, for which he was eternally grateful, but whenever Scott thought back and tried to remember those days he grew nauseous and clammy. Whenever he questioned Professor Xavier about it, his adoptive father simply told him certain things were best left in the past. 

**_ ‘Don’t compare me to any of those beasts, it makes me feel soiled.’ _ ** Emma's voice cut through his thoughts, cool in his mind like raindrops running down his face. 

**_ ‘My apologies,’ _ ** he thought back as he steered his bike into Emma’s private garage and turned off his bike, putting the kickstand up and getting off. 

The garage light was on and in the doorway leading into the headmistress’ private residence stood Emma, the White Queen, in all her illuminated glory. Her platinum blonde hair fell in perfectly careless waves down her back, her face a work of art even without a hint of make-up, and the light shining off her sheer, floor-length robe that was effortlessly draped of the curves of her body. 

“Hi,” he breathed, taking in the sight.

She said nothing but Emma’s face was soft in the way Scott knew was reserved for the youngest of her students, the Cuckoos, and himself. 

They stood there, staring at one another for a long moment before he finally got up the courage to clear the distance between them in three long strides. Scott wrapped his arms around Emma, tucking his face into her hair and nearly collapsing into the embrace when her arms closed around his waist. 

“I’ve missed you, Emma,” he whispered, breathing in the sweet scent of the woman’s shampoo.  _ ‘Honeysuckle and mint,’ _ Scott thought.  _ ‘Still the same after all these years.’  _

Her robe was silk, probably ridiculously expensive and certainly white as the freshly fallen snow, and Scott liked how it felt under his fingers. Scott liked that he only felt what seemed like the thinnest of negligee underneath even more… though that made him feel sick inside. 

_ ‘You love Jean,’ _ he sternly reminded himself as he stepped back, out of the embrace as Emma’s hands trailed down his arms before wrapping around his own. 

“It is good to see you, Scott,” she said, her pristinely manicured hands giving his a light squeeze before her smile faltered. “You’re freezing! You should have let me send a car to get you… or at least wore a proper jacket.”

She raised their intertwined hands to her cupid’s bow lips and breathed a warm breath over his cold fingers. “Let’s get you inside; I put some soup on the stove if you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Scott admitted, stomach growling at the mention of his favorite food, and letting himself be led inside by the hand. “Chicken noodle?”

“Of course.”

Scott let the rich scent of soup -garlic and onion and more- wash over him as Emma sat him down at her kitchen island. Her kitchen was just as he expected, sleek and pale and ultra-modern with nothing out of place and not a speck of dirt anywhere. There was, however, a collection of scribbled crayon drawings pinned to the fridge with colorful magnets.

“The girls were ecstatic when I told them you were coming,” she said, serving up a bowl of soup and putting it in front of him. “They attempted to wait up to greet you but I insisted they go to bed.”

“I can’t imagine they were very happy about that,” he chuckled, blowing on a spoonful of the broth. 

Soup was his favorite comfort food; maybe it came from his time early childhood in Alaska were tomato soup and grilled cheese was the perfect way to chase away the chill or maybe it came from the months in the hospital after he awoke from his coma when soup, jello, and applesauce were the only things he was allowed to eat. Scott couldn’t say but even after all these years, a bad week meant that he wouldn’t be picking up a fork for a while. 

“No, they most certainly were not,” the White Queen chuckled as she began rifling through her cabinets, eventually pulling out two boxes. “Ah-ha! Hot cocoa, I know I’d forgotten something.”

“You know me so well.”

Emma turned on a kettle and huffed, “I damn well should, after all the time we spent together. I even know you well enough to indulge your ridiculous love of bendy straws.”

Scott’s ears went pink at her words and he rubbed the back of his neck as she slid a rubber ducky-shaped mug in front of him, popping in a pink bendy straw. “Thank you for all this, Emma, I… I really needed to get away from the mansion for a while.”

“Well, I wasn’t lying when I said that we needed a substitute mathematics instructor; Monet needs to check on some of her family’s holdings in Algeria and now she can do so without feeling guilty,” she shrugged, slipping onto the stool next to him with her own mug of cocoa. “But, glad as I am to have you in my home, I  _ do  _ think that I deserve some sort of explanation as to why you needed to flee so suddenly.”

Scott stared down into his bowl, hoping to find some sort of answering among the carrots and celery chunks. He’d never been that lucky though. “I saw Jean kissing Logan.”

The spoon Emma was stirring her drink with slipping from her fingers, clanging against the rim of the mug, and her eyebrows shot up. Her surprise lasted only a moment though, the White Queen never lost her composure for long. “I see. That must have been quite shocking for you.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

She cast him a quietly sympathetic look. “Nothing I could say would make you feel any better, Scott, but just know you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Scott repeated. Then, after a long moment, he slumped down and allowed himself to take comfort in her warmth. “It hurts so much, Emma.”

She rubbed his back soothingly, “I know, Darling, I know.”

* * *

“I had the room made up for you,” Emma explained, opening the door to a suite for him. “I didn’t have much time to outfit it, I’m afraid, so please excuse the shabbiness.”

Scott eyed the enormous California King with a plush comforter that matched the half-a-dozen extremely comfortable looking pillows and fought the urge to grin; Emma truly was, by her own admission, extremely high maintenance and it showed.

“I’m sure I’ll survive, though-” he felt himself blush at the embarrassing admission that was coming, “-my real issue is that I didn’t bring a change of clothes… I packed a bag but was in such a hurry to leave that I forgot it.”

Emma gave him an amused look. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Scott blushed harder.

She laughed and nodded towards the dresser, “There are some clothes in there. My room is just down the hall, I’ll leave the door unlocked if you need… or  _ want  _ anything.”

Emma gave him  ** The Look ** ; the one she always used to give when… Even after all these years, it made his mouth go dry, his heart beat faster, and all of the blood in his brain to rush south. He gave an awkward dry cough, “Thanks, I… I should be fine.”

The White Queen rarely let her true feelings show on her face and yet Scott knew her well enough to pick up the slightest drop of her eyebrows. She was disappointed. 

A torturous, traitorous part of him was too. 

“Very well, goodnight then,” she said primly. “Sleep well, Scott; I’ll see you in the morning.”

And with that she walked off, leaving him alone with his thoughts to collapse on the suite bed with a sigh. He rubbed his tired face, “What am I doing here?”

Predictably, nothing in the room gave him a decent answer. 

* * *

Morning came after a long, hard night, and yet far too soon all at once. In a practice motion, Scott reached over to the nightstand for his glasses, eyes carefully closed behind a sleeping mask -it was a fuzzy, Hello Kitty one; either Emma or one of the girls had left it for him as a joke- and enjoying the feeling of sunlight on his skin as in filtered through the partly drawing curtain as the morning seeped into his mind and bones. 

This routine, which he’d done just about every morning for the past ten years, ever since he arrived at the mansion as a skittish fifteen-year-old, was interrupted when his hand fell through the air, connecting with nothing. Scott’s heart sped up with the automatic reaction of panic that always occurred whenever he couldn’t immediately find his shades; hand flailing out, it soon connected -quite hard across the knuckles,  _ ouch-  _ to the bedside table. He breathed a sigh of relief, sliding his hand up the piece of furniture until it reached the top and then smiling when his fingertips brushed the cool, glassy surface of one of the ruby-quartz lenses of his glasses. 

Once they were on, Scott gave the room a far more thorough once-over than he had last night; the full reality of what he’d done sinking in, a strange concoction of relief that he wasn’t around those who’d hurt him and shame that he’d run away like an upset child. It was that shame, combined with no small amount of morbid curiosity, that had him reaching for his phone.

Twenty-Three Missed Calls: eleven from Jean, five from the Professor, four from Ororo, two from Hank, and one from an unknown number.

Fifty-Seven Unread Text Messages: thirty-two from Jean, twelve from Ororo, six from the unknown number, five from the Professor (who didn’t like texting, for which he received much gentle teasing from his students), and two from Hank (texting was difficult with large, ape-like fingers, he often complained). 

Thirteen Unheard Voicemails: seven from Jean, three from the Professor, two from Ororo, one from Hank, and one from the unknown number.

He stared at the screen, unsure where to start… or even if he  _ wanted  _ to start. Scott could guess what the messages and voicemails would say -’call me,’ and ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘are you okay?’- and he knew, logically, that he should call Jean and discuss what happened like the adults they were. Scott also knew he should call the Professor and at least assure the man that he’d arrive at the Academy safely. God knows Hank was also probably tearing out his hair; the furry blue beast had always been protective of Scott, ever since he arrived at the mansion as a bruised, underfed teenager that could be picked up and carried around under one arm.

But it was Ororo’s phone number that was dialed up when Scott’s thumb hit the call button. His stomach squirming nervously, Scott pressed his cell against his ear and waited for the soft, “Hello?”

“Hey, Stormy,” he breathed.

“Oh, Scott, thank god!” A pang of guilt hit Scott’s stomach at the relief that audibly flooded Ororo’s voice. “Where in the world are you? You just up and vanished yesterday; Jean is erratic, Logan has sulked off somewhere, Hank is hiding it well but I know he is worried, and I’m about ready to beat down Charles’ door to get answers.”

“I’m perfectly safe,” he assured her quickly, even though the addition of ‘at least physically,’ invaded his mind without permission. “I’m at the Massachusetts Academy.”

There was a pause and Scott could almost hear the wheels turning in Storm’s mind. “You’re at the Massachusetts Academy… and with Emma, I presume. May I ask why?”

“Monet is going out of the country for a few weeks so they needed a trig sub; Emma asked, the Professor offered, I agreed,” he explained. Then, when Ororo didn’t respond, reluctantly added, “and I needed to get away from the mansion for a while.”

“Because of something with Jean.”

It wasn’t a question and Scott gave a dry chuckle at how well his surrogate older sister knew him. “How’d you guess?”

“She kept fiddling with her engagement ring at dinner last night and refused to meet anyone’s eye; it was a logical assumption. Now, tell me what happened so I can pick a side.” That last part was teasing but there was a hint of desperation in Storm’s voice that made Scott shake his head, despite her not being able to see it.

“No!” he said, surprised by his own volume. Scott took a quick breath then continued. “I don’t want you to pick a side; I don’t want you to be angry with Jean or anyone else. It won’t solve anything.”

“Scott,” she said, her warm voice unusually stern, “tell me what happened.”

He fought it… but eventually just sighed. “I saw Jean kissing Logan; like, really kissing him, not just a friendly peck but full-on kissing and I just… ran.”

There was a sharp inhale followed by a terse, “I understand why you left then.”

“Please don’t be angry with her,” he pleaded. “I’m sure she has a good explanation, I just need some time to get my head on straight before I hear it.”

Scott could so easily picture the tense, pensive look on Ororo’s beautiful face which would inevitably be followed by a stiff nod of the head. “And how long will you be gone?”

“Emma needs me for at least three weeks while Monet is away,” he explained. “So that long, at least.”

“Three weeks and not a moment longer, you hear,” Storm scowled sweetly. “Don’t let Emma try and keep you any longer than you’re comfortable with.”

“You all always act like Emma is going to lock me up in her basement and keep me as a pet,” he laughed.

Ororo scoffed, “Well, I didn’t defeat Callisto in single combat just to hand you over another dominant woman, little brother, and, if necessary, I will come down and steal you back.”

“Good to know,” Scott said, a smile stretched across his face. “I’d also feel better knowing that you’re leading the team in my absence.”

Another pause. “I would be honored.”

“Thanks ‘Roro,” he said softly, using the old, childish nickname he’d teased her with. 

“Of course. Stay safe, Scotty.”

The phone call ended, Scott gave a deep sigh and rolled out of bed, deciding that it was finally time to face the day. This would be harder knowing that he’d been so stupid as to leave not only his clothes but also his toiletries and phone charging cord back at the mansion. Thankfully, the suite’s bathroom had been fully stocked with everything he needed, including his favorite brand of shaving razors; part of him thought this should have been creepy but Emma had been the one who first introduced him to them in the first place, so it was no surprise. 

Scott pulled a shirt out of the closet, rubbing the silk fabric between his fingers and relishing in the softness. He didn’t know anything about clothing -his entire wardrobe had been pick out by either Jean or the Professor with the occasional pair of shoes or sports coat being a gift from Warren- but Scott could tell it was expensive, probably to the point that it would give him an aneurysm if he saw the price tag. Yet there it sat next to a dozen other shirts and six sweaters Scott would bet his firstborn on being cashmere. 

“Just a little gift,” Emma would say if he questioned her about it. 

But gifts were dangerous.; they always had been. 

Jack had hung the fact he’d given Scott his first pair of ruby quartz glasses, had given him back the ability to  _ see _ and that he’d ‘protected’ him from that damn mob, over his head to justify his so-called ‘ownership’ of Scott. There’d been other gifts too, some apple juice in the fridge on occasion or an oversized but nice leather jacket when the fall set in or a cheap pizza dinner on his birthday; Jack had been criminal, yes, but he hadn’t been a stupid one and the man was smart enough to throw morsels of kindness in with the abuse, knowing it would be enough to keep Scott from running off. 

He’d been right. 

When he let himself, Scott could vaguely recall his nightly ‘check-ups’ at the orphanage; he remembered them as standard doctor’s appointments -temperature taken, reflexes checked, eye exam, and maybe some blood drawn- performed by a kindly-faced older doctor, not Dr. Hanover but someone else. After they were finished, he’d been given a cookie or lollipop or a cup of watery hot chocolate and then tucked back into bed with a pat on the head. Scott knew some of that, probably most of it, was a bullshit fabrication put in place by Sinister to keep him calm but there were still mornings he woke up with candy wrappers in the pocket of his pajama pants or an empty paper cup on his bedside table. 

In some ways, that was the worst part of it… knowing that monster was, in his own special way,  _ fond  _ of Scott. 

He’d arrived at the mansion with nothing but the (too big, ripped, and filthy) clothes on his back -which he gleefully burned at the first opportunity- and a cardboard box full of the few mediocre belongings Scott had. As such, the Professor had needed to provide him with most of the necessities of life; the man, having never needed to care for a child on that level, going a bit overboard doing so. 

It had frightened Scott at first, to go from an old and stained bare mattress on the floor of a bedroom scarcely bigger than a closet in a dilapidated building to a fully furnished suite bedroom in a giant mansion stuffed full of anything and everything that his new guardian thought might interest him. 

He’d been so sure that this strange, rich man had wanted…  _ something _ from him; the same thing Jack always threatened to make Scott do with the smelly old drunks that leered at him whenever he passed by on the way to the bus stop. This fear only intensified when the Professor had handed him a bank card and told him to use it when Scott needed something. 

To his credit, Professor Xavier quickly caught on to his discomfort and began offering an ‘allowance’ that Scott could earn by doing small housekeeping chores around the mansion. 

_ ‘That,’  _ he supposed,  _ ‘hasn't changed much. Only now he calls it my paycheque.’  _

Perhaps, in many ways, he was still that beaten teenage boy the Professor had saved over a decade ago.

* * *

“Good morning, Mr. Summers!”

“Oh, good morning to you too, Celeste,” Scott said as he awkwardly returned the hug given to him by the blonde teenage telepath who'd thrown herself at him as soon as he stepped into Emma’s private kitchen. 

“You must be hungry, Mr. Summers,” Mindee -did Irma still prefer to be called by that nickname? He’d have to check- asked from her place at the stove. “Would you like some eggs? I can make them any way you want.”

“Thank you, but I think I’m going to stick with cereal for today,” he yawned, reaching for a box of Post Great Grains Crunchy Pecan Cereal. 

_ “It’s unopened,’ _ he noted, grabbing a bowl and the milk carton.  _ ‘Did Emma get this just for me?’ _

Phoebe wrinkled her nose as Scott shook a generous helping of cereal into his bowl. “Please tell me you’re at least going to add fresh fruit to that or something?”

He shrugged, “I was thinking of cutting up a banana.”

One was promptly shoved under his nose. 

“You should also have some protein too,” Mindee said, putting a small plate of eight slices of bacon down in front of him. Then she paused, eyeing the plate suspiciously, and took back two of the slices. 

Sophie rolled her eyes and stole a piece of his bacon, “Don’t be stupid, Mindee. Everyone knows bacon is mostly fat; get him two of those hard-boiled eggs that are in the fridge.”

Scott heard a snort and turned to see Esme typing away on her laptop, mocking miming her ‘eldest’ sister’s orders. He gave a soft chuckle that caught Esme’s attention; she gave him a bit of a sheepish smile, wiggled her darkly painted nails in a small wave, and then slid a mug of coffee in his direction. 

“You all really don’t have to go through all this trouble,” he started as Mindee began digging through the fridge. “I am perfectly-”

“Girls, are you harassing poor Mr. Summers?”

Emma strolled into the kitchen, a vision in one of her complicated white outfits. She took a seat next to him at the kitchen island, causing Phoebe to huff in annoyance as she was displaced, and poured herself some tea. “Esme, put that thing away and greet our guest properly.”

Cue the grumbling.

Esme huffed, slammed the laptop shut, glared at her ‘mother’, and then turned to him with a sticky-sweet smile. “It is nice to see you, Mr. Summers; I just wish it didn’t take Ms. Grey being a cheating-”

“ **_ ESME! _ ** ” 

Five voices shouted out at once as ten icy blue eyes pinned glares on the wild child of the Cuckoos and Scott felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.  _ ‘Did Emma tell them?’ _

“Esme,  _ dear _ , go finish getting ready for the day,” Emma growled, causing the girl to stomp off in a huff and leaving an awkward silence to fill the kitchen. 

“Well,” Celeste piped up, shifting a bit in her seat, “ _ I’m _ happy to see you, Mr. Summers.”

This was followed by a choir of mumbled agreements and nods by Sophie, Phoebe, and Mindee. 

“I’m glad to see you all too,” Scott replied honestly; then, with a smirk, added, “even Esme.”

That got him the laughter he was hoping for. 

**_ ‘Don’t let Esme’s temper tantrum fool you, she is as happy that you’re here as the rest of us,’  _ ** Emma told him telepathically.  **_ ‘The girls adore you; you’re the closest thing they have to a father.’ _ **

**_ ‘That is a little unfair to Sean,’ _ ** he thought back.  **_ ‘He sees them almost every day and is there for them far more than I can be.’ _ **

**_ ‘Perhaps,’  _ ** she replied, fondness seeping into her thoughts,  **_ ‘but he is far stricter with them whereas the girls have you wrapped around their little fingers.’ _ **

**_ ‘That isn’t true!’ _ **

**_ ‘Really? Then I wonder where in the world Esme’s laptop came from?’ _ **

**_ ‘Alright, alright,’  _ ** even though he knew she couldn’t see it, Scott rolled his eyes. **_ ‘I am a pushover, I’ll admit it.’ _ **

Emma laughed one of her rare, genuine laughs.  **_ ‘You’re good for them; you see them as individuals and you can tell them apart, that is far more than most.’ _ **

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to judge others for their difficulty in differentiating between the five Cuckoos; after all, they were all identical down to the last eyelash and tended to dress the same, almost certainly to mess with others. The only reason Scott could tell them apart was -as coloration was meaningless to him- he’d learn to rely more on personality and body language quirks to identify people and, once you got past their identical appearances, the girls were all very different people. 

Sophie was the leader, the most mentally independent, and the most individually powerful of her sisters; she was also the one who was most interested in heroics, which made Scott very proud. Phoebe could have the occasional snap of aggressiveness but was mostly a passive person, the least likely to go against Sophie. Mindee was a fun-loving girl, enjoying music, flirting, and fashion; she was also probably the second most rebellious of her sisters. Celeste was the timidest and most affectionate of the Cuckoos, despite being the second most powerful, and, though he’d never admit it, she was probably his favorite. Then there was Esme, the rebellious, wild child of the family who was unaware that her own greatest weakness was her arrogance and unwillingness to work with others.

“What are you going to teach us during trigonometry class, Mr. Summers?” Celeste asked, poking at her own breakfast.

Scott shrugged, “I’ll have to check to see where Monet- I mean, Ms. St. Croix, left off but, if everything goes well, I might be able to squeeze in a couple of pool lessons.”

“You’re going to turn my poor students into degenerate gamblers,” Emma jokingly scowled before running a hand down his arm. “Navy blue is your color, my dear.” 

“Really? I wouldn’t know,” he replied with a smirk.

Phoebe put on a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Wow, Mr. Summers made a joke.”

“That was a joke?” snorted Sophie.

“What did I do to warrant all this abuse?”

“Oh, girls, don’t tease the man,” Emma said, peeking over her newspaper. 

Mindee reached and patted Scott’s hand with mock sympathy, “You really should just let others pick out your clothes for you, Mr. Summers; it is something that is best left to the experts.”

“Believe me, I know.”

Scott had spent many hours perfecting the art of being mannequin while Warren and Jean picked out his clothes in the mall. 

He fiddled with his sleeve cuff. Emma said the shirt was navy blue but it looked purple to him; Scott tried to recall what navy blue looked like… wasn’t it the color of a dress his mother had worn to a co-worker’s wedding once? 

People seldom thought about it, but it was amazing how much of life was dictated by color. Seeing only shades of red, much of Scott’s day-to-day existence had to be customized; he had to learn to watch the brightness of traffic lights instead of the color, the controls of the Blackbird and his other planes had to be altered, he preferred reading and listening to music to watching movies or television as forms of entertainment because you lost a lot viewing everything through a red filter, and his dresser was carefully organized so that Scott didn’t accidentally to most hideously clashing outfit as possible. 

But the worst was people. 

Scott could so clearly remember the bitterness he felt listening to Warren wax poetically about the emerald sheen of Jean’s eyes, knowing he’d never be able to see them for himself. He couldn’t fully appreciate the ethereal beauty of Warren’s wings or Ororo’s hair or a freshly fallen snow because everything was just shades of red.

Not to mention that Hank, ever since his secondary mutation occurred, constantly reminded him of a Purple People Eater. 

Scott long since had gotten into the habit of mentally stitching people together from the features he had in his memory; he gave the Professor his father’s brown eyes, Warren his mother’s blonde hair, and Jean the eyes of his old childhood neighbor, Mr. Milbury. In his mind’s eye, they became patchwork people -dolls created from broken pieces of Scott's memory. 

He often feared the day would come where he forgot color altogether. 

He explained this all to Emma once, years ago when they were younger and things didn’t seem quite so difficult.

***

_ “Would you like to know what I look like?” Emma asked, long bare legs tucked under her body, shielded against the grass by the blanket he’d laid so they could enjoy a beachside picnic on Emma's private property.  _

_ Shocked by the question, Scott nearly spilled the champagne he was pouring her. “Of course, but- but how?” _

_ The telepath grinned sneakily before tapping the side of her head and then, clear as day, there was a perfectly in-color picture of Emma in his mind, all long platinum blonde hair, lacy white sundress, flawless pale skin, and icy blue eyes. She was just… stunning. _

_ “Wow,” he breathed. “You’re gorgeous.” _

_ Emma laughed, “It took you this long to notice?” _

_ “N-no!” Scott sputtered out, “Of course not, I just-” _

_ “I’m teasing,” Emma laughed again, quieting him a finger to his lips. “You know, there is another way for you to see me.” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ Emma’s skin rippled in the way it always did when she shifted to her diamond form. She leaned in close -she smelt like honeysuckle and mint- and reached up to take hold of his glasses.  _

_ “Don’t!” he flinched, grabbing one of her hands. “I’ll hurt you!” _

_ “I can take it,” Emma reassured, voice low and gentle. “We’re surrounded by forest and water; there is no one around for miles. It’ll be okay, Scott; I swear.” _

_ Emma had never steered him wrong before; she was many things, but a liar wasn’t one… at least when it came to him. So Scott forced his hand down, hands balling up into fists in his lap, and gave a quick, sharp nod. He fought the urge to flinch as his glasses were lifted from his face, feeling young and naked and vulnerable without them.  _

_ “Open your eyes.” _

_ Panic rushed up his throat.  _

_ “No!” Scott choked out, “This is a mistake! I... I could hurt-” _

_ “Shhhhh,” the telepath soothed. “Do you trust me?” _

_ “...yes,” he whispered.  _

_ “Then open them.” _

_ So Scott did. Destructive red energy pouring out only to get absorbed by Emma’s exquisite diamond form that glistened to the afternoon light, completely unharmed. Smiling, she cupped his face in her hands and said, “You have beautiful eyes.” _

_ Then Emma kissed him, diamond lips cool and hard until Scott’s eyes closed -bliss taking over his body- and they turned warm and soft.  _

***

“Mr. Summers? Mr. Summers?”

Scott jolted upright, “What?”

Five blonde telepaths all gave him an amused looked. Sophie snickered, “Do we even want to know what you were thinking about, Mr. Summers?”

He felt the heat rush up his face but Scott tried to brush the question off, “I was just thinking about some good times.”

Out of the corner in his eye (not that his peripheral vision was anything to write home about), Scott was sure he saw Emma smirking into her tea.

* * *

Logan had a lot of bad days; hell, they probably outnumbered his good days. So, after all this time, he’d gotten pretty good at telling how a day was going to shape up within minutes of waking up. 

And he could tell that today was going to be  **_ shit! _ **

The vague hope that what happened yesterday had been some weird wet dream -he’d been the other man before, many times, but Logan had never stuck around to see the fall out; he never had to feel guilty about it- was immediately crushed by the glare Storm fixed him as he shuffled into the kitchen for food.

“Mornin,” he gruntled, swiping some sausages from one of the breakfast platters set out for the kids and taking a moment to be grateful that Ororo had too much self-control to fry him with lightning in front of the students. 

_ ‘Nah, she’d wait until we were both far away from prying eyes,’ _ Logan considered, peeking out the window to check for thunderclouds. None so far, but best to keep an eye out. 

“Good morning, Logan,” McCoy said in the crisp, proper way of his. “Might I interest you in the use of a plate and some utensils for your breakfast?”

“Yeah, sure,” he grunted, taking the plate of eggs, sausages, and buttered toast and tucking himself into a corner to eat as he watched Kitty and Jubilee duel with bread knives and Jaime pour chocolate syrup all over his cinnamon rolls. A better teacher might have interfered with these antics but, seeing as there hadn’t been any bloodshed yet, it wasn’t Logan’s problem.

“Where is Mr. Summers?” One of the youngest students -Sandy? Sarah? Samantha?- asked around a mouthful of cereal.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Jeannie flinch. At the same time, Ororo’s lips pursed and the spoon she was using to make chocolate milk for the children banged hard against the side of the glass pitcher. 

“Mr. Summers was asked to teach a math class at the Massachusetts Academy, Savannah,” she explained tersely.

The girl, who’d Logan vaguely recalled as being a particularly tiny telepath that had latched herself onto the leader of the X-Men -even taking to wearing a glittery pair of pink sunglasses whenever possible- immediately after arriving at the mansion from a bad situation, pouted. “Well, when is he going to be back?”

“Headmistress Frost needs him for at least three weeks.”

At the mention of this Frost lady, Jean got up and left without a single word; a quiet fell over the students as they watched her go, the older ones probably putting together that something had happened. When she was gone, Stormy -who also didn’t look happy- turned her attention back to Savannah.

“No more questions now,” she said with a motherly firmness. “Classes will be starting soon; finish your breakfast.”

She wasn’t talking to him but Logan decided to take those words to heart and enjoy breakfast to the best of his ability; one thing was sure about living at the mansion, he’d never (in his spotty memory) eaten better.

Eventually, the bell singling the start of the school day rang and all the kids filtered out of the kitchen, the more responsible ones having the courtesy to clean up after themselves and put their used dishes in the sink to be properly cleaned up later. And by later, he meant immediately by Hank, who, like Logan, didn’t teach any of the first period classes. 

He stacked up some of the dirty plates the little brats had left behind. “So, how pissed at me are you?”

Hank opened the dishwasher with a little more force than necessary. “Well, I’m certainly not your biggest fan at the moment and you should watch yourself next Danger Room session… but I  _ also  _ know the blame is not to be laid squarely at your feet and Scott has asked that we all maintain a sense of professionalism for the sake of the children.”

_ ‘Of course, he did,’ _ Logan thought with a mental eye roll.  _ ‘Even after running off, Slim is still the boy scout.’  _

“But Stormy is still ready to kick me off a cliff though, right?”

“Oh absolutely,” Hank nodded. “She is very protective of Scott, has been ever since we were young.”

Logan had seen old pictures of them all, Chuck even kept a framed one on his desk. Summers, Jeannie, Ororo, and that Michaelangelo statue looking douchebag with the wings had all been stuck in the lanky, half-pretty and half-awkward stage while McCoy had been muscular yet furless -which just seemed wrong; he looked better blue- and just all around too young for all the crap life would pile on them in the coming years. 

“So who is this Frost lady?” he asked, passing the giant furry smurf an empty mug. 

**_ CRACK! _ **

“Oh dear,” McCoy muttered, as he stared down at the shattered remains of the porcelain mug in his massive hand. 

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Well, I was going to ask why the mention of her got Jeannie all twisted but I guess she isn’t very popular with anyone.”

“Emma Frost has many admirable qualities,” Hank said diplomatically. “She is an extremely powerful telepath, a fiercely protective teacher to her students, a solid if somewhat morally dubious alley, and has excellent taste in the arts; she runs a school similar to this one in Massachusetts, though smaller.”

Logan gave a grunt of understanding, “That doesn’t explain why you all hate her; ‘Ro didn’t even like saying her name.”

“I don’t hate Emma; we attend the opera together once a year… But, you must understand, Emma and Scott also have a…  _ history _ , which Jean happened to uncover when she found them in bed together.”

That was a surprise. Logan always figured that Scotty was the type to save himself for marriage. Unless… 

“Wait, was he cheating on her with Frost or something?”

“Oh no,” McCoy shook his head. “This was years before Scott and Jean became an official couple; though they developed feelings for one another almost immediately after meeting, especially on Scott’s side.”

Logan tried to picture them both as pining teenagers; it was kind of adorable. “Is Jeannie jealous she didn’t get to take Cyke’s cherry? Or does she think Frost is waiting to steal him back?”

“That is likely part of it,” the blue-furred mutant conceded with a nod, “especially since Scott has stayed in contact with Emma through the years and is more than willing to act as a paternal figure in her daughters’ lives. Plus, well…” 

Hank rummaged around in the designated junk drawer and pulled out a pamphlet, passing it to Logan. He opened it curiously and, “Wow, is that a corset… and a riding crop?”

“Before you get any ideas, know that she’d eat you alive and then pick her teeth clean with your bones after feasting on their rich marrow,” Hank warned. Then he sighed, his face going solemn and thoughtful, “You know, Jean never resented Scott for being with another woman; if it had been any other woman, she may have even been happy about him getting out and experiencing more of the world but…”

“But?” Logan asked, at this point legitimately interested in the ‘mystery.’

Hank clenched his jaw and Logan could hear the man’s fanged teeth grinding together, “But Scott was sixteen when the relationship began… and Emma was twenty-seven.”

**_ “WHAT?” _ **

Logan’s first reaction was to be a little bit impressed. His second was to think about how weird and creepy it would be if Marie got with a guy over ten years older than her. This third was to fight the urge to stab something.

McCoy gave him a hard nod. “Emma was in the process of opening her own school and she invited Charles to come and check out the facilities so he did, bringing us all along. As you can imagine, Warren, Scott, and I were all…  _ fascinated  _ by her and even competed for her attention a little, much to the frustration of Ororo and Jean. Anyway, we ended up staying for the summer, and, as the days passed, Emma became more and more focused on Scott, to the admitted jealousy of Warren and myself; they’d go off on their own for hours at a time under the guise of ‘training.’ I don’t know when things turned sexual but they did and, when Jean found them together, Charles was furious; we left almost immediately afterward and things have been strained between him and Emma ever since”

“Well, what the hell did Chuck do about it?” Logan demanded, growl seeping into his voice.

Hank gave a helpless shrug, “There was nothing Charles really  _ could  _ do; sixteen is the legal age of consent in Massachusetts and Emma hadn’t been in any technical place of authority over Scott so there was nothing the police could do either… not that Charles would have involved them anyway. He preferred to keep the authorities as far from us all as possible.”

“That is bullshit! He was just a kid, Frost had no business sleeping with him!” 

“I agree,” McCoy nodded, “but, if asked, Scott would not. Even after all these years, he still doesn’t understand why everyone was so upset over it… though he does feel a sense of guilt over ‘driving a wedge between Charles and Emma,’ quite wrongly, I might add.” 

He scowled, “God, you’re joking!”

“I wish,” Hank huffed. “He rarely talks about their ‘relationship’ out of respect for Jean and the rest of our feelings on the matter but, when he does, Scott recalls the time with extreme fondness and, while I do not condone what she did, I will say that I completely believe Emma’s affection for Scott was genuine.”

“Oh, and I guess that makes it all right,” Logan rolled his eyes.

“No, of course not; I don’t mean to suggest otherwise, but I also want you to understand the grayness of the situation.” Hank paused, then gave a small chuckle, “It is actually quite amusing; Scott seems to have an unconscious habit of endearing himself to older, morally-gray individuals, Namor is even fond of him.”

“Namor?” Seriously, what had Logan gotten himself into by joining up with these people? “Who the hell is that? Slim got an ex-boyfriend too?” 

“Oh no,” Hank waved the question away, seeming to find it hilarious. “Namor is Namor the Sub-Mariner; the King of Atlantis and an absolutely fascinating mutant/Atlantian hybrid. You’ll meet him eventually if you stick around; he likes to stop by every few months to call us all imbeciles, eat all of our bagels, and take Alani out for ice cream.”

No. **FUCKING**. Way. Atlantis was real now too? That was too much for Logan. If these nutjobs had a chupacabra locked up in the basement somewhere he was out.

“Anyhow,” McCoy declared, closing the now loaded dishwasher and turning it on, “I just wanted to say that, while I don’t hold you entirely responsible for what occurred, Scott is one of my oldest friends and I love him dearly so, while I enjoy your company, I will always choose him over you.”

With that he nodded and lopped off towards his lab, leaving Logan to sit in the kitchen hoping Slim would return soon so they could deal with this like men and wondering if bigfoot was real or not.

* * *

"Scotty!" Sean cheered and wrapped him into a hug, with a smile as broad as his Scottish accent; even if the fiery red of his hair had started to dull, that hadn't. "Good to see you, lad!"

"I saw you two weeks ago when you came to visit Theresa," he pointed out, even as he returned the hug. 

"Doesn't mean I can't have missed seeing that pretty face of yours," the older man snickered, pinching Scott's cheeks like an old auntie. 

"Lay off the kid, Sean," John said jokingly even though his face retained its normal serious expression -resting bitch/serial killer face, he'd hear the kids call it... sometimes about him!- as he stepped forward to give Scott a firm, but friendly handshake. "We can't have the leader of the X-Men deciding that he'd be better suited for life as a male model."

"Oh, stop it both of you," Sonya chided, giving Scott a kiss on the cheek. "It's great to see you, Scott; we were this close-" she held up her thumb and ring finger a millimeter apart "-to breaking down and drawing straws to see who'd be forced to sub in for M's trigonometry class. You're a real-life-savior. Monet also asked me to tell you that she is sorry she missed you and that she hopes you'll stick around after she gets back so you two can catch up."

She didn't smell like Jean -roses and clove instead of apple blossom and citrus- and was much shorter than the telepath with the two women having vastly different styles of dress... but, though he couldn't really see it, Scott knew Sonya had red hair and green eyes, which made her painful to look at. 

"Sounds nice," he nodded, knowing 'catching up' would probably involve being forced to put on a suit, going to some ridiculously expensive restaurant, eating some weirdly small portion of food that he couldn't identify, and having Monet shove packets of paperwork under his nose as they went over possible business investments and how to best destroy rivals. "Though I'm sure she wasn't too broken up about it."

Perhaps that was unfair. Despite her loud, pompous, and brash attitude that often bordered on arrogant, Monet felt things as deeply and as purely as anyone else. Also, who wouldn’t develop that kind of personality after being born into money, growing to be drop-dead gorgeous, and hitting the mutant power jack-pot? 

"Hush, you know she means well," Sonya gently scowled, swatting him in the stomach.

"Watch out, you're going to cut me with that thing," Scott joked, taking her by the hand so he could get a better look at the sparkling engagement ring on her ring finger. "I didn't realize I was talking to the future Mrs. Proudstar."

He raised an eyebrow at John who gave a proud, yet somewhat bashful smile. "It just happened last week. We haven't even told Jimmy yet so would mind keeping quiet about it for now?" 

"No problem," Scott replied, "and congratulations."

Being a mutant involved so much pain and misery than any cause for celebration was a welcome relief for the horror of being hated and feared. Birthdays, weddings, and newborn babies were always a source of joy and treated with special importance. At the mansion, on the first of every month, there was a big party with cake, presents, and games to celebrate all the birthdays that would be occurring during the upcoming weeks; it wasn't much but it did help to remind the kids who no longer had families there were still people that cared about them. 

"So how is my little Terry doing?" Sean asked, stepping to the side as a group of uniformed students swarmed by to get to the lunchroom.

"Good, good. She's just got picked to do a solo in the spring concert and has been working on her flying, hasn't quite mastered it yet but she's getting there."

Despite working at the Massachusetts Academy for the last decade, Sean has wanted his daughter to at least start out attending Xavier's just as he did. It wasn't uncommon for both teachers and students to go back and forth between the two schools at different times depending on which was a better fit for them personality-wise. John, for example, had started out at Xavier's while his younger brother, James, started out at the Academy, only for the two to eventually switch. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and Scott turned to see Esme.

"Mr. Summers? Ms. Frost wants to see you in her office."

Trying hard to ignore the snickering behind him, he nodded, "Sure, can you show me where it is?"

"Of course."

"It looks like Scotty is heading to the principal's office," John called after him jokingly. "I hope he isn't going to get a spanking."

Scott responded with a rude gesture over his shoulder as he followed Esme through the corridors of the Academy. It had been a while, close to five years since he last visited but everything looked so different from what he remembered. 

"We remodeled recently," Esme informed him, "so that is why you don't recognize the layout."

"Esme, did you just read my mind without permission?" 

"...No?"

They finally reached the headmistress' offices but before knocking to announce his arrival, Esme bit her lip and shifted uncomfortably before blurting out, "Hey, I just want to apologize about what I said this morning. It was wrong of me and you didn't deserve it. I also wanted to let you know that Mom didn't tell anyone what was going on; we were just spying on you two last night an overhear."

Scott let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in.

"Thank you," he said, relieved. "I'm glad you told me."

She blushed, nodded, and walked away with a small wave.

Scott watched the girl go and then knocked on the door to Emma's office.

"Come in!"

"Hey, you wanted to see me?" He said, closing the door behind him. 

"Always," Emma said with a flirty grin which she quickly reeled back in before Scott could respond. "I wanted to see how your first class had gone. Did all the students behave themselves?"

"Of the most part," he shrugged. "Quinten and Julian caused a bit of trouble by talking over me but Sophie and Mindee were on top of it before I could even say something, had them convinced that they would span their necks if they didn't shut up."

"That's my girls," Emma smiled, proud at the vicious blonde little creatures her Cuckoos were becoming. "Did you have a good time, at least?" 

"Yes," and, to his surprise, Scott was being completely truthful. Perhaps it was just the change of scenery, but teaching his class this morning had been a surprisingly relaxing experience. All of the students seemed to enjoy being there and most were engaged in the lesson throughout with the outliers at least, for the most part, staying quiet and respectful... though maybe that was due to fear of Sophie and Mindee. "It was nice."

"That's good, I was worried you would decide to cut and run. Can you think of anything else you need or would like to do?"

Before Scott could say anything, a sign he'd driven by on his way in last night flashed in his mind causing him to muffle a snort of amusement.

"What is so funny?" Emma asked, tilting her head to the side as she smooth platinum hair cascaded down in elegant waves. 

Scott tried to wave it off, "Nothing, don't worry about it."

"No, seriously. What is on your mind? Don't make me get it out the old fashion way," she urged, tapping the side of her head.

"It's just... when I was driving in last night I saw a sign advertising this carnival -St. Toby's Summer Festival- and, for a second, I thought about how long it's been since I went to one," he chuckled. "But, anyway, I could use some more dry erase markers; different colors, if possible. I could only find some black one."

"I swear, no matter how many of those damn things I order there is never enough," Emma sighed. "I suspect the other instructors are stealing them from one another. I'll take care of it."

Then she reached over and pressed down the button for the intercom. "Attention students and facility; classes this afternoon will be canceled. Instead of lessons, we will be going on a trip to St. Toby's Summer Festival. We will be departing at 3:00 PM and anyone who wishes to go should gather by the front entrance at least fifteen minutes before then. Thank you."

She stopped broadcasting and Scott could only gasp at her. Emma had always taken her students' education extremely seriously, even the most minor of changes to the curriculum was only made after careful consideration or due to unforeseen circumstances. The idea that she'd cancel classes on a whim was almost inconceivable.

"Emma!" 

The telepath shrugged innocently, "What, I'm not allowed to enjoy an evening of overpriced, fattening fried foods and ill-maintained carnival rides?"

At that moment, Scott was struck by a deep, warm rush of affection for the woman who taken him into her bed when he was an awkward, virginal teenager who could barely speak to girls, let alone feel comfortable bedding one, and who didn't laugh when he'd hadn't known what to do; instead, Emma had taught him and kissed him and believed in him and listened to him.

He remembered lying in bed next to her after making love and spending hours just talking about anything... about everything. Scott had told her about his doubts and fears and insecurities; all the things he felt like he couldn't share with the Professor or his friends. After all, if he was to be the nucleus around which the X-Men were built then how could he allow himself to express such things?

***

_ "Why did the Professor choose me?" he'd asked. "Hank is smarter, Warren is more confident, Ororo is more powerful, and Jean is... Jean is special. Is it just because I have nothing else? Is it because I'm not good at anything else?" _

_ Emma listened to him mope patiently, lying on her side draped majestically in one of her white silk sheets. "Charles chose you because within you he sees the potential for greatness; someone who, in time, can lead our people into the future. He sees you as someone he can shape into something glorious." _

_ Then she rolled on him, her breasts pressed into his bare chest and cupped Scott's face in her hands as she stared down into his eyes. "But to me, you are already perfect." _

***

Scott could never tell anyone because they'd disagree but he knew that he was better off for his time with Emma. She gave him confidence in himself that neither the Professor nor his friends ever could; he knew they loved him but they were his family, so they had to say nice things about him -that he was kind and smart and handsome and a good leader. 

The problem with being complimented by your family is that part of you always doubted if they were being truthful or not. 

But Emma was an outsider, someone who was unfamiliar with the group dynamics and had no reason to show him anything beyond basic politeness. But instead of just playing nice -or Emma's version of nice- with the adopted son of a respected colleague, she'd taken an interest in him. In  **_ HIM _ ** , not Hank who was brilliant and athletic and warm or Warren who was rich and charming and looked like a literal angel. 

Scott hadn't been bad looking at sixteen, he knew that; he'd eaten enough to no longer be dangerously underweight, the signs of Jack's abuse had faded -except for the cigarette burns Jack pressed into his skin when he wanted to be sure Scott remember who he belonged to; those were still there and Emma had kissed each and everyone one of them, drawing her tongue from scar to scar- and he’d grown over six inches. 

But that didn’t change the fact Scott felt gangly and unappealing while standing next to his friends, that he felt certain funny, outgoing, beautiful Jean would certainly prefer Hank or Warren to him. Emma was the one who made him feel comfortable, confident, and, well, desirable. 

Scott gave a dopey smile, “Emma, you’re awesome.”

“Oh, I know,” she said confidently. 

* * *

A tub of Publix Premium Chocolate Moose Tracks ice cream was slammed down in front of Jean, startling her out of a daze. 

"We burned at least 800 calories in the Danger Room today, there is no need to skimp on comfort food," Ororo said firmly, holding up two spoons. 

Jean gave the carton of chocolatey goodness a longing look.  _ 'I really shouldn't...' _

She shoved the bowl of chopped fruit and granola away, grabbed a spoon, ripped the top of the ice cream tub, and plowed right in. 

" _ MMMmmmm _ ," she moaned as the first bite hit her tongue, eyes rolling back into her eyes. Ororo gave a soft chuckled, spooning out a smaller, more dignified bite.

"What brought this on?" Jean asked. "I thought you were angry with me."

"Oh, I'm furious with you for hurting Scott," the other woman replied simply. "I'm sickened that you chose to spit in the face of a good man's trust like that."

Jean wince and wilted at her friend's words before anger -the source of which she couldn't identify- began to burn in her throat, fiery and fierce. She opened her mouth to defend herself, ready to argue that it wasn't like that and she didn't mean to do that. 

"But," Ororo continued, cutting her off with a raised finger, "Scott wants me to remain calm and civil, for the children's sake if nothing else, and I know you well enough to understand that this was out of character for you. So, we should talk about what happened like adults; now, what happened?"

"I... I don't know," Jean admitted. She spent the better part of the past two days trying to figure it out herself only to come up with nothing; she'd been somewhat attracted to Logan, sure, but not so much that she'd cheat on the man she loved. "I woke up that day feeling a little off, a little feverish-"

"Like you had the flu?"

"No," she shook her head. "More like I was buzzed -you know, like when you drink just enough that you're caught in between sober and properly drunk?- and I was just really out of it; I remember walking down the hallway and seeing Logan and just being overcome with the urge to kiss him... so I did. I didn't even stop to think about it; I just kissed Logan and I hurt Scott and now he is off in Massachusetts with **_HER_ _!_** "

Ororo gave a non-judgmental, yet non-committal hum. "Emma cares for him; she will help him."

Jean scoffed. "So, what, you're on Team White Queen now? She'll help him alright, just like she did all those years ago; she'll help him right into her bed."

"Do not turn this on me, Jean," Storm said coolly, iron firmness in her eyes. "You and I both know he would never do that to you and, whatever feelings we may have about Emma, we also both know that her affection for Scott is completely genuine."

"That doesn't matter," the telepath snapped. "I don't want Emma anywhere near Scott, not after what she did!”

"Fall for him?"

Jean scowled and fixed the other woman a glare. "You don't really believe that, do you? You know what Emma is like! She's manipulative, two-faced, and vindictive! She was playing with Scott then and she is playing with him now! Besides, even if she has something resembling real care towards him that doesn't change the fact that she is eleven years older than Scott!

"You are four years older than him," Ororo replied passively.

"That is different and you know it," she hissed back. Surprised by her own viciousness, Jean closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "When Scott and I first met, he was a beaten and nearly broken fifteen-year-old boy and I was nineteen. We started spending time together and... I liked him a lot, more than just as friends, but I couldn't be his first relationship! He could still barely look at people when talking to them! I wanted him to grow and heal, to make sure that his feelings for me were real! I waited until he was mature enough and then..."

Storm gave her a careful look. "Does it bother you so much that Emma is Scott's ex or that she was his first-ever relationship?"

There was another rush of fiery anger, Jean slammed her hand down on the table and the cabinets rattled from an unintentional blast of telekinesis. "No, goddamnit! It bothers me that Scott went to **_HER_ **when he was upset, that going to Emma was his first instinct when hurt!"

Ororo had jolted back at Jean's flash of anger. 

"Jean," the other woman said, her eyes brimming with concern, "what in the world is going on with you?"

At her friend's words, the red-head nearly collapsed in on herself. "I... I think I'm going insane, Ororo. I've been having all these bizarre nightmares of fire and death and darkness. I've been shouting at kids over the smallest things. My control over my powers is slipping; I tried to levitate a glass of water over to me the other night and it completely shattered! Something... something is _wrong_ with me and I don't know what."

A gentle hand reached over and rubbed Jean's back but Storm offered no words of comfort.

* * *

Cotton candy stuck to the sides of Scott's mouth as he took a bite of the sugary confection. _ 'No Danger Room session and junk food? You've been a very lazy boy today Mr. Summers.' _

To be fair, it wasn't like he'd spent the day laying in front of the television eating Cheetos in his underwear. Scott had done a five-mile run in the morning and worked out in the gym with John and Sean. He earned a little treat, especially since he was usually so careful about his eating. 

"Want some?" he asked, holding out the stick of cotton candy out to Emma who wrinkled her perfect nose.

"No, thank you," she waved it away. "I'm already degrading myself by eating this monstrosity-" Emma held up the corn dog he'd teased her into getting. "and I refused to let myself sink further into calorie-filled decadence."

"Alright but I'm making you split a funnel cake with me later," he warned, taking another bite of his sweet treat. 

Emma rolled her eyes, "Shame on you, Scott Summers, for using my own fondness for you against me. Why I ought to- _Quentin_ , you leave those fish alone right now!"

Scott watched with amusement as the dignified White Queen raced to stop one of her errant students from tormenting much-abused bagged goldfish. It was kind of nice to not be the one in charge of keeping children from making mischief with their powers. He did get the urge, of course; being a mutant involved so much pain and misery, how could Scott fault his students for finding joy in their abilities. Hell, if his own powers weren't so destructive he'd probably do the same. 

They did help him learn to play a mean game of pool though. 

Instinctively, Scott took a step back and scanned the area around him; doing a mental headcount of the students, identifying where the other instructors were, and categorizing all of the potential dangers, exists, and blindspots. 

_ 'You're at a fair and you can't even let yourself relax?’ _ he scowled himself. _ 'You really are an uptight stiff, Summers!' _

Scott shook the thoughts out of his head, determined to have a good time, and, out of the corner of his eye, saw one of the Cuckoos at a game booth arguing with a worker. 

He strolled over, "What's going on here?"

The Cuckoo -Mindee, he now recognized- turned to him in a fury. "This game is rigged! I've sunk almost $20 into the damn thing and not gotten anywhere with it!"

Scott looked over the game. There were dozens of colorful balloons pinned to a corkboard with many cheap-looking novelty stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling. A sign read '$1 = 3 darts; $5 = 10 darts. Pop ten balloons in a row for the grand prize.'

The grand prize in question was a large purple stuffed dragon wearing a little witch's hat that reminded Scott of Kitty's pet dragon, Lockheed. 

"Hold this please," Scott said, passing his cotton candy to Mindee -who immediately helped herself to a bite- and pulled a dollar of his wallet. "Three darts, please."

Receiving them from the greasy-faced, polyester-clad carnival work, Scott took careful aim and popped three balloons with ease. "It seems fine to me."

"Told you, girlie," the booth worker said, giving Mindee a nasty grin, as he pulled down a small stuffed keychain charm in the shape of a bear dressed as an old-fashioned sailor and handed it to Scott. "Maybe you just aren't that good, sweetheart?"

Scott fought the urge to hit the man for the way he was looking at Mindee but instead, he reached out with his mind.  **_ 'Mindee, are you listening?' _ **

' **_ Yeah, how'd you do that?' _ **

**_ 'You're right, these games are rigged,'  _ ** he thought back.  **_ 'These darts are unevenly weighted on the front so they lose momentum and drop fast if thrown straight. But if you aim them in an arch, you can make that work for you.' _ **

He pulled out a $10 bill. "Here, why don't you try again?"

Mindee, face scrunched in concentration, took Scott's advice, handed back his cotton candy, and...

**_ Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! _ **

"YES!" Mindee cheered, throwing her arms up in triumph as the desired plush dragon was handed over. She squeezed it possessive, looking into it's black, button eyes, "You're coming home with me, buddy."

Then she turned to the worker. "Who is good now, sweetheart? And don't think I didn't notice you trying to peek down my shirt, you creep!"

With that, the blonde teenage telepath tucked her prize under one arm and her petite, manicured hand into the crook of Scott's elbow to lead him away from the stand.

"Was that man inappropriate with you?" he asked, concerned even though knew well and good that Mindee could take care of herself. 

The girl wrinkled her nose in disgust and Scott almost laughed at how identical the expression was to the one her mother made when he once suggested they get lunch from McDonald's. "Well, his mind was an absolute sewer and his eyes wondered but he kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself."

None of that quelled Scott's desire to go back and confront the man. He opened his mouth to say so when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, a quick check showing it was the Professor. A rush of shame flooded Scott's heart; he'd promised to call the man after arriving at the Academy but had been putting it off. The man had done so much for him and Scott couldn't even do that one small thing?

"Hey, do you want to ride the Ferris wheel?" Mindee asked, pointing to the ride.

"Oh... sure, I just have to answer this call real quick," Scott replied, holding up his phone. "Why don't you go see if you can save us a spot in line. Do you still have enough tickets?"

With a nod and a smile, Mindee scampered off in the direction of the ticket taker, leaving Scott to duck in between booths where it was a little quieter. 

He answered the phone. "Hello, Professor."

"Hello, Scott," the man replied calmly. "Am I to assume you arrived at the Academy safely?"

"Y-yes," he stuttered, feeling his shoulders slump at the scowling. "Sorry I didn't call you, I just-"

"Scott, it is all right.; I understand," the Professor soothed. "While I would have certainly appreciated a call, it is nothing to worry about and Ororo let me know you arrived safely after you two spoke."

Despite this, Scott still felt the need to elaborate. "It was really late when I got to the Academy and I didn't want to wake you so-"

"Then perhaps it wasn't a good idea to go rush off so late in the day," the old man suggested gently. "And it will never be too late for you to call me. You know that right?"

"...yes," he replied somewhat awkwardly, unsure of what else to say and hoping that was the right answer. 

Thankfully, Professor Xavier didn't push the issue, "How are you feeling, Scott?"

"Good," Scott found himself nodding earnestly. "It has been nice to see Emma, the girls, and everyone else. We even decided to take the kids to a carnival for the afternoon, can't remember the last time I've been to one of these."

"Oh really? Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Mmmhmm, I won a keychain bear; it has a little sailor's hat."

Scott heard his adoptive father chuckle softly on the other end of the line before his voice went serious again. "Scott... about Emma-"

"I didn't sleep with her," he said sharply, not letting that line of questioning take form.

"...Good," the Professor said cautiously. Then he added a hesitant, "Did she ask you to?"

_ 'Well, not directly,'  _ Scott mentally admitted as he thought back to last night's offer; but, not wanting to give anyone ammunition against Emma, replied, "No, she just made sure I was okay and then showed me to my room."

He could tell that his adoptive father was surprised by the shortness of his tone. "I don't mean to upset you, Scott. I just worry that, given the history you two share, Emma may attempt to manipulate you into-"

"Emma isn't like that!" Scott snapped, frustrated by his friends and family's repeated insults to Emma's character; usually, they all had an unspoken agreement to simply not speak of her at all but there would times -when Emma would stop by the mansion to go over some bit of business with the Professor or he'd get a birthday card from the Cuckoos- where things would boil over and cause a fight. Scott didn't like having to justify his friendship with Emma or her daughters; he was entitled to have relationships with different people, after all. If Jean was allowed to be friends with Logan than he should be allowed to talk to and visit Emma if he wanted!

"I'm sick of you all acting like I'm some sort of naive child who can't make their own decisions! I was with Emma because I want to be; she never needed to manipulate me! I liked it, she made me feel good and I like being around her! Despite what you all think, what Emma and I had was real!" he shouted.

"Even if that is true," the Professor said sternly, "it doesn't change the fact that she was an adult woman and you were a child."

***

_ "Emma, I'm so sorry," Scott lamented. The pair had only just managed to grab a solitary moment to say goodbye, having been constantly 'supervised' by one of his friends or the Professor himself the hours since Jean found him and Emma in bed together. Now, with the bags packed and the car fueled up, they'd be leaving in just a few short minutes but Scott was determined to say his piece before they left. "This is all my fault; I never thought that you and the Professor would have a falling out over me and now-" _

_ "No, Scott. Hush," Emma comforted, cutting him off with a finger pressed to his lips. "We did nothing wrong and, even if we did, the blame is mine and mine alone." _

_ Then she kissed him on the forehead and held him for the last time in what would end up being years. _

***

"But I was older enough to fight your war?" he hissed.

His harsh words hit their intended mark and Scott heard his adoptive father suck in a breath. The shame returned instantly. 

"I'm so sorry, Profesor," he said, all but falling over himself to apologize. "That was disrespectful of me and I-"

"Didn't say anything untrue," the older man replied, gentle and quiet. "You are right; it is wrong of me to expect so much of you and yet still treat you like a child, reminding you to brush your teeth and wash behind your ears."

"I don't mind that part," Scott reassured because he honestly didn't. After years of the frosty indifference of the orphanage's 'caretakers' where Nate (or whoever he really was) liked to dictate Scott's daily activities -go to lessons now, eat the bland meals then, play three games of chess in the afternoons, etc- and then living in squalor with Jack who only cared enough to make sure Scott was in good enough shape to be useful on 'the job' -honestly, Scott wouldn't be surprised if Jack purposefully kept him weak and dirty so he wouldn't rebel; a little of anything was better than nothing, right?- the Professor's 'helicopter parenting' had been... nice, if a little odd at first.

"It's just that... You've taught me to be strong, Sir, both physically and mentally; you've said yourself that my mental shields are fantastic! So, do you think that you can trust me on this?"

"Yes, of course, son," the professor assured. "I'm sorry for acting so controlling, I just... worry."

"I know," Scott replied, _'But it is nice to hear.'_

"So you're safe?" Professor Xavier asked. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm alright, I just need some time to get my head on straight," he explained. "Can you make sure someone feeds Bagheera though?"

Bagheera was the half-blind tomcat with a torn ear and barely-healed scars he'd rescued from a storm drain two months after arriving; now an elderly, ornery feline, everyone else swore he was evil -even called him Shere Kahn, the bullies- but Scott loved the cat and, seeing as it did a commendable job catching mice, he'd long since earned his place at the mansion.

Plus, if they let Logan and his temper stay than Bagheera deserved to as well. 

"There are times I wonder why I ever allowed you to bring that vicious beast into our home," the professor noted wryly. 

_'Because it was the first real thing I ever asked for after coming to live with you. Because you knew I was so sure no one else would love something so pathetic. Because you knew that I looked at that skinny, dirty little creature and saw myself.'_

"But I'll ask Kitty to see that he is fed," the telepath continued. 

Kitty was the only student capable, due to her phasing abilities, of braving his cat's claws, even Jean used her telekinesis to pick up or feed the tomcat. 

"Thank you for checking in on me, professor," Scott said.

He heard his adoptive father give a soft hum, "Stay safe, Scott. Please call me if you need anything."

"I will, goodnight."

"Goodnight, enjoy the fair."

Scot hung up the phone and let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in. _'That went well.'_

"Mr. Summers, come on!" Mindee shouted, waving him over.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and smiled. "I'm coming!"

* * *

Scott would probably regret eating so much junk food tomorrow, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it tonight. Laying back in bed, silky sheets smooth against his skin and the window cracked open to let in the cool night air, the leader of the X-Men felt relaxed and at peace. It was a nice feeling, had been a wonderful day, and would be a shame to ruin it but as Scott stared at a particular number on his phone and hovered his thumb over the call button, he knew that it was time to stop running. 

He pushed the button and allowed himself to half-hope that no one would answer.

"Scott?" Jean answered groggily.

"Did I wake you?" Scott asked, already regretting making the call.

"No, no," Jean said, obviously lying. "Hi."

"Uh, hi."

There was a palpable tension, an excruciating awkwardness that manifested in a painful silence before...

"Oh god, Scott, I'm so sorry," Jean blurted out, distress obvious in her voice. "I swear I didn't mean to hurt you! Kissing Logan... I don't know why I did it but I swear that I'm not cheating on you. It... it was a mistake, just a stupid mistake!"

"I believe you," he said, and, to Scott's own surprise, he meant it. Jean would never intentionally hurt him, he knew this like he knew the controls of the Blackbird or how to play a perfect game of pool. 

"Y-you do?" she asked, shocked and pained. 

He nodded, mostly to himself. "I do; I know you love me and I love you too."

Jean let out a relieved sigh, "Good. Scott, I swear that I'll make this up to you when you get back."

"We'll definitely need to talk," he agreed. 

"Yeah, you're right." Scott heard Jean swallow hard. "S-so will you be coming home soon? Savannah missed you today, kept asking when you'd be home."

Scott frowned at the mention of the shy little telepath who'd become his own personal shadow. "That is a low blow, Jean. I promised that I'd stay for at least three weeks and I intend to keep that promise."

"I know! It's just..." Scott could clearly picture his fiance rubbing her face in frustration. "You will be coming home after that though... right?"

Scott closed his eyes and listened to the spring peepers sing.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'm not sure."

**Author's Note:**

> Should there be a sequel or be left as is? I don't know.


End file.
